


Miscommunication

by grungerofgotham



Series: the confession series [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gerry overthinks stuff, Kissing, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, is Gertrude some kind of chaotic mom friend?, see for yourself, the fluff makes up for the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungerofgotham/pseuds/grungerofgotham
Summary: "Gerard you are spectacularly stupid"- Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.Or: Gerry overthinks
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: the confession series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694602
Comments: 14
Kudos: 121





	Miscommunication

**Author's Note:**

> there is a semi detailed depiction of a panic attack in here as well as mentioned paranoia, so if that doesn’t gel with you, maybe sit this one out. Stay safe kiddos :)

A couple days after Gerry leaves Michael’s apartment, he’s gotten himself into a funk. 

Michael had insisted that Gerry shower (“You haven’t taken those socks off in over 48 hours! Go take a shower or you’ll get trench foot!”) and he had pointedly not used Michael’s shampoo, because he doesn’t need that kind of distraction in his life. Distantly he’d thought about what it might be like living with Michael. At the very least it’d mean that he could shower in a bathroom that didn’t have black mould growing in the gaps between tiles.

Gerry had left after a short but awkward stand-off at the front door. Unsure how to leave, they had endured the stuttering silence until Michael skipped forward hesitantly, face blazing, and dropped a sweet kiss on Gerry’s cheekbone.

He can’t stop thinking about that last conversation on the sofa. Gerry had confirmed his love for Michael, and he took it well, thank god. He squeezed himself down to fit into Gerry’s side and they had held hands for a good hour, watching telly as Gerry breathed in the smell of Michael’s hair. And Michael didn’t say it back.

Gerry doesn’t need him to love him back, he tells himself. He doesn’t need it. Having Michael alive and healthy in this world is more than what he’s willing to hope for. And sure, Gerry loves Michael. Michael is kind and strong. He would carry the whole world on his shoulders if he thought it would please just one person. As far as Gerry’s concerned, Michael is the only good and special thing in this universe, and he would lay down his life and more to protect him. So he doesn’t need Michael to love him back, he just needs him safe.

But it sure would be nice, to have someone that needs him as much as he needs them. Lord knows his mother could never give him that.

Gerry has spent his life running from the possibility that one day he might be allowed to feel. He’d beaten the need to be vulnerable black and blue until it died and all he had left was cold facts and the will to destroy Leitner. He’d turned his back on it and when he wasn’t looking it grew back with a vengeance. 

He’d met Michael when he’d first started working as Gertrude’s assistant. Tall and bright as a sunflower, Gerry had never seen anyone so wilfully unobtrusive yet inescapably helpful. The first time Michael had smiled at him felt like a blow to the gut, because here was this person, so deeply and unwittingly entrenched in the heart of evil, still wholly intent on enjoying life as it came, handing out beautiful nervous grins to anyone who might acknowledge his existence.

It was only about six months ago that that need to be known grew back in full and clobbered him in the head from behind as he watched Michael throw himself in harm’s way for him.

There was an attack on the Institute. Fighting the things off wasn’t hard, but Christ there were so many. You’d turn your back on an empty room to beat one over the head only to have another clawing at your back. It was one such instance as this when Gerry had felt ragged teeth scraping against the nape of his neck. Michael had come from nowhere, squealing all the while, and hit the thing so hard with a desk lamp its head nearly came off.

When Michael had looked at him after, eyes wide and wearing a prideful grin, Gerry had known he was in love. He’d never felt a feeling so whole and encompassing than in that moment. And he’d been fighting a losing battle against those feelings since, or, until that morning.

Was all that vulnerability worth it? He’d submitted himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and it had made Michael happy, he had smiled and held Gerry’s hand. Surely that should be enough.

But still the question remained steadfast in Gerry’s mind, making itself at home, not showing any sign of leaving: Does Michael love him, too?

Gerry’s been sulking around the Institute all day. He wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘sulking’ but he can’t help but feel like that’s what it looks like. He’s been idly flipping through files and statements about any and all Leitners, and definitely _not_ looking up every time Michael leaves his desk. He tells himself he doesn’t know what Sasha means by all those pointed looks she keeps sending his way.

He’s flipping through an old statement about a Buried Leitner when a steaming mug appears between his nose and the page. He looks up to see a blushing Michael, smiling sheepishly and gesturing for him to take the tea. 

“Looked like you needed it. All that heavy reading, haha,” Michael tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“Thanks, Michael,” Gerry says, ink stained fingers brushing against Michael’s as he takes the proffered cup.

Michael’s smile widens, and he bites his lip before dashing away. He bumps into a potted plant beside the door and apologises to it before leaving the room. A smile finds its way involuntarily onto Gerry’s face as he watches, before he catches Sasha looking at him.

“Just talk to him,” she says exasperatedly.

Gerry answers with a scowl and goes back to pretending to read.

*

“Uh, Gerry?” Michael says, rapping his knuckles softly against his desk to get his attention, “Gertrude wants to see you?”

“Ouch!” Sasha says from across the room.

“Didn’t I say don’t tell her I’m here?” Gerry says.

“Gertrude is an omniscient overlord,” Sasha says blandly at the same time Michael says, “Gerry, you aren’t exactly invisible.”

Gerry sighs and marches down the hall to Gertrude’s office. He doesn’t bother to knock as he enters, plopping himself down in the chair opposite her desk and waiting for her to say her piece so he can get back to sulking in the other room.

“Gerard,” Gertrude greets him.

He sighs loudly, “What do you want from me?”

Gertrude’s lips do a funny-looking manoeuvre like she’s trying not to smile. That’s ridiculous. Gertrude doesn’t smile. “My, you are in a bad mood.”

“I don’t have time for your games, old woman.”

“Oh, I understand, you need to get back to guarding my assistant like a personal bulldog,” she pouts faux-sympathetically at him.

Gerry glares at her and says nothing.

She sighs, “You’re a mess, Gerry. You aren’t focusing on your work and you look like death warmed over. What’s wrong?”

Gerry lowers his eyes and picks at a loose fibre on the chair he’s sitting in, still not answering. Upon glancing up, he finds Gertrude looking at him with an expectant eyebrow raised. He sighs, “I told- god, um,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, grimacing, and grits out, “I told him that I love him.”

Gertrude surprises him with a loud, sharp laugh. “Gerard you are spectacularly stupid.”

Gerry sits up in his seat, suddenly mad, “What? He doesn’t deserve to know?”

She waves a hand dismissively, still smiling, “Of course he does! But to think he doesn’t love you back is what makes you so idiotic. Doubting Michael’s feelings is like doubting the sun rising in the morning, Gerard.”

Gerry clamps his mouth shut after realising it had been hanging open. “H-he didn’t, I mean, he didn’t say-.”

“Everyone has their own love language, Gerard. Pick yourself up, and get back to work,” she replaces her glass on her nose, effectively dismissing him.

He goes out to the Archival common area, and finds Michael standing anxiously by the plant he had nearly knocked over earlier and Sasha leaning half-casually against her desk.

She turns to him when he comes in, “Gerry, did I just hear Gertrude _laugh?_ ” she asks incredulously.

Gerry nods dumbly before turning to Michael, delaying nothing any longer than he has to, “Michael, do you want to go on a date tonight?”

Michael’s face is the picture of delighted shock, a toothy grin spreading slowly across his face, “Gerry, I, y- wait, well, I don’t know how late I’ll be here tonight, so, um…” Michael’s expression flattens.

Gerry tries very, very, hard not to look as crushed as he feels, until Sasha speaks up.

“He’ll be out by 6,” she says, patting Michael on the shoulder and heading out.

Gerry, still uncertain and finding it hard to look him in the eye, says, “So I’ll pick you up at 6, okay? From here? We could go see a movie or something.”

Michael is smiling again, ducking his head, trying in vain to hide his blush, “Y-yeah, that sounds nice, Gerry, I’d like that.”

*

Gerry finds himself with even more time to think while waiting on the stairs outside the Institute for Michael. He’d left not long after having asked Michael out. He’d grabbed what files he needed and beat a hasty retreat.

Then he’d been alone in his apartment with nothing but his thoughts and an over-watered house plant for company. He’d rifled through his cupboard for anything that might be date appropriate, knowing damn well that he’d end up wearing the same old thing anyway. He’d spent an hour refolding all the clothes he’d thrown around, giving up halfway through and shoving them all in until he could manage the door closed. He’d taken a shower (or two) and spent an inordinate amount of time touching up his make-up.

None of this took his mind off things. Did Michael not want to go on a date? Is that why he said that thing about not getting out early? Gerry knows Michael gets out of the Institute late regularly, but still, there’s that doubt nagging at him. What if Michael was just using that as a convenient excuse? What if he would rather stay in the Institute all night just to get away from Gerry?

Sure, he had seemed initially excited when Gerry first asked, and he had smiled real big and pretty like always, but what if it was just an… all just an act? What if this has just been some huge long con, some vast scheme orchestrated by the web? 

Okay, okay, that’s a little much. Gerry may be paranoid, but thinking Michael is an avatar of the _web?_ Just because he was a little hesitant to go on a date? Come on! Gerry needs to get a fucking grip.

Now Gerry is sitting in the cold November air, freezing his ass off against the stone steps of the Institute. He checks his phone and it’s nearly quarter past six. If Michael doesn’t show up soon, Gerry is going to have to go in there and get him or go back home with his tail tucked between his legs like a wounded dog.

It gets to 6:30, and there’s still no sign of Michael. He’d sent him a text at 5:55. It’s sitting on delivered. Gerry decides to head down to the Archives. If there’s one thing in this life he won’t give up on, it’s Michael. He gets to the Archive’s common area, and it’s dark, save for a solitary lamp on Michael’s desk. Michael is there, scribbling furiously at a piece of paper, completely absorbed in his work.

Gerry knocks on the door frame and allows himself a small smile when Michael jumps at the sound. 

“Oh! Gerry? I thou- Oh, dear, it’s past six,” Michael looks around like he’s forgotten where he is. He gets up from the desk, then goes to sit back down, then stands up again, looking a little lost, “I’m so sorry! I lost track of time and I had just the one thing to do and turns out it’s a, uh, lot bigger task than I thought, hah. Um, okay, okay, I’ll finish that later, I-.”

Gerry shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and looks to the floor, “I mean, if you want to finish it, I can go? We can do this another time…” he looks up at Michael and the man looks stricken.

“What? No, we can go, Gerry, I want to, let me… let me just clean up here, and I’ll be- be right there,” Michael begins to gather his papers into a stack and shove them hastily into a desk drawer before turning off the lamp and grabbing his coat from the rack and joining Gerry by the door.

Gerry offers his arm with a smile and Michael takes it with a blush, and they walk out into the cold air. Gerry is trying his hardest to push down the welling disappointment he’s feeling inside. His paranoia is getting to him, he can feel it. He knows, he _knows_ Michael is a dedicated and hard worker, and that’s one of the things he loves about him, but some stupid little voice in the back of his mind is telling him Michael stayed down there, finding more and more work to do, just hoping that Gerry wouldn’t come to find him.

He chooses to shove that all aside. This is going to be a nice night, damn it, because he gets to spend it with Michael, who looks cute as all fuck trying to bury his nose in his thick scarf. He catches Gerry watching, and his eyes crinkle, cheerful smile hidden.

“So what are we seeing?” Michael asks as they walk to the nearest cinema.

“Well, the only two movies that are starting soon is this one horror movie I’ve been meaning to see, and that big romance that’s being advertised everywhere.”

Michael sighs, muffled by the scarf, “Gerry, I’m so, so sorry I missed 6 o’clock, I really did just lose track of time.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Gerry nudges Michael lightly with his elbow, “you get lost in the work, can’t fault that or I’d be the biggest hypocrite known to man.”

Michael giggles and damn if that sound doesn’t make all the over-thinking worth it. They arrive at the cinema and Michael takes his time considering the two life-size posters of their options.

“Which do you want?” Gerry asks, enjoying the scrunched look on Michael’s face.

“You probably wanna see the horror, don’t you?” Michael says, side-eyeing Gerry playfully.

Gerry chuckles, “Yeah, you got me. If you wanna see ‘ _Rain in the Garden_ ’ I suppose I could tolerate it.”

Michael shoves Gerry lightly in the shoulder, “Don’t say it like that! I’ve heard really good things about it,” he says, then adds quietly, “And I really want to watch it.”

“If you wanna watch it, we’ll watch it.”

“No, Gerry, I want you to be happy, too, and you wanna see the horror,” Michael says plaintively.

“You’ve been working hard all day, Michael, we’ll watch the romance. You deserve it,” Gerry says.

“I suppose that’s true…” Michael replies slowly, then with a sly grin, “But if we watch the other one, I might get scared then you’d have to hold my hand.”

Gerry chuckles and takes Michael’s hand, warm skin chasing away the chill in his anxious bones, “I can do that anyway, though, right?”

Michael giggles, and doesn’t answer save for squeezing Gerry’s hand.

Gerry’s insides start to feel less and less like they’re trying to eat themselves as they banter back and forth about which movie to see. They eventually settle on the romance, but Michael insists on paying, dashing to the counter before Gerry can begin to argue.

They collect their popcorn and take their seats. When Michael takes his hand a few minutes into the movie, Gerry has to check that his chest isn’t glowing, because his heart is way too warm with Michaels’ affections.

The movie is much too sappy for Gerry’s taste, just as he’d expected, but the plotline catches his attention. It’s about a woman who devotes her life to the man she loves. Through out the movie its abundantly clear that he feels the same way toward her, but when it comes to the final climactic scene, and she confesses her love to him, mascara running in perfect black lines, he tells her he does not love her in return, and she is left broken and sobbing in a rain-streaked garden.

Michael is crying against his shoulder as the scene plays out, and Gerry sits stricken beside him, the story hitting much to close to home, and his heart is beginning to race. He hopes to any god that may be out there that Michael can’t feel his pulse. When the credits roll, Michael does his best to hide the fact that he’s blowing his nose and dries his face discreetly before they meander out along with the rest of the crowd.

Gerry follows beside him, breath not quite coming as readily as it should, as Michael rambles on beside him about the acting and the stunning scenery. Gerry is in a serious funk, and he is trying his damnedest to figure out how to break down quietly without Michael noticing. There is no way in hell his voice will be steady enough to make some excuse and leave without Michael’s mother hen instincts kicking into high gear.

They are out on the street now, and the cold air hits Gerry like a ton of bricks as his hands begin to shake in earnest and his vision swims as his eyes fill with tears that he _will not_ shed.

“Gerry are you alright?” It’s Michael, and his hands are on his wrists, holding gently, hands warm, and Gerry can’t breathe; his throat is too tight. “Oh, dear,” he hears Michael say distantly.

Gerry can’t see straight, and his lungs are pumping air like there’s no tomorrow, but he can feel himself being led somewhere. There’s a wall at his back. It’s cold and grounding. Now there’s hands on his face. They’re warm and smooth. Michael’s in front of him, grey eyes concerned, and he’s saying something.

“Listen to my breathing, Gerry. Follow it, come on, there we go. In, yep, out, nice and slow. You’re doing great, love.”

His breathing is shaky but he knows where it is now. He blinks rapidly to clear his eyes, and his throat stops trying to strangle him from the inside out. Michael and his beautiful hands are still there, still warm and whole and _there_.

Michael smiles when Gerry focuses on him, “Hey, there you are.”

Gerry places his hands over Michael’s and realises he’s sitting, when had he sat down? His ass is surely getting wet, but he can’t bring himself to care. Michael is crouched in front of him and he can _breathe_.

“What happened, Gerry? Do you want to talk about it?” Michael says gently, rubbing his thumbs gently over Gerry’s cheekbones.

“H-he didn’t love her back,” is all Gerry can manage before his eyes well up again.

Michael looks confused but doesn’t stop smiling. “This is about the movie?”

Gerry shakes his head fervently, “No, no, I- it’s, uh, M-Michael, I love you, and, ah-.”

Michael’s look of confusion grows, “I love you, too, Gerry. What are you trying to say? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Gerry goes still, eyes wide and watery, and he stammers, “Y-you love me?”

Michael giggles, smiling big and bright, “Of course I do, Gerry. Wh-? Oh.” Michael’s face goes slack with shock. “Because I didn’t say it. Oh, my god, I didn’t say it back! Gerry, fuck, I am so sorry, of course I love you! I am such an idiot, oh, my god. I’ve been awful…”

He leans forward and begins to pepper Gerry’s face with short kisses, muttering ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘I love you’s until Gerry laughs giddily. He puts his hands on Michael’s shoulders and lets him haul him to his feet, where he continues his ministrations until Gerry pushes past it and buries his face in Michael’s chest. Michael continues pressing kisses into Gerry’s hair, then stops and just holds him tight.

“Gerry, I am so, so, sorry I didn’t make it clear,” he says with a mournful sigh, “If I’m being honest, I never thought you were totally serious when you said you loved me, and I guess- well, I guess I was just trying to protect myself, I never thought… Never thought you would care this much. But that’s no excuse, Gerry, you deserve to know how loved you are. I fucking love you Gerard Keay, I am so sorry.”

Gerry pulls back with a sniffle, “I love you, too, Michael. Fuck, I’m sorry for freaking out on you, Michael, I just. I don’t know, I just-,” Gerry stops and shrugs, not having the words.

Michael smiles gently and pulls something out of his bag, “You don’t need to apologise.” He presses a kiss to Gerry’s forehead then rubs at Gerry’s cheeks with a wipe.

“Wh-?”

“You’re make up’s running,” Michael explains.

“Oh. Well, you know I only cried because you cried, and I didn’t want you to feel alone,” Gerry clarifies feebly.

Michael giggles and wraps Gerry in another firm hug before taking his hand and tugging him back toward his apartment, “Okay, tough guy.”

They walk in silence for a moment before Gerry says, with an embarrassingly shuddery breath, “Hey, Michael?” 

Michael hums.

“How come you didn’t freak out back there? I mean I know I was the one freaking out, and I’m not saying you, uh, can’t handle it, but, um… Oh, forget it…” 

Michael chuckles, “You mean why was I so calm when you started panicking, when I’m usually so anxious myself?”

“Uh, yeah?” Gerry rubs his neck awkwardly, hoping his question isn’t too offensive.

Michael takes a deep breath and looks contemplatively across the street, watching the lights reflecting off the wet asphalt. “Do you remember when those things attacked the Institute? And you found me struggling with one, so you killed it then gave me that letter opener to defend myself?”

“Yeah?” Gerry answers, confused about the relevance.

“You weren’t freaking out, because they were your monsters. Sorry, they weren’t _yours_ but you’ve grown up with that stuff, you know. They come from your world; they’re your monsters. I was panicking because I’d never seen anything like it before, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Gerry says, watching Michael’s gaze grow wistful, “Anxiety is your monster?”

Michael nods with a sad smile, “Yeah. I know what it looks like, just like you know what a Leitner looks like. Sometimes you can’t save yourself, so it gets to a point where all you can do is save others, because it’s your monster, and you know how to kill it.”

Gerry tugs Michael closer by the hand and rests his head against his shoulder as they walk, squeezing his hand where they hold tight to each other.

“Everyone’s got their monster,” Michael says quietly.

*

Gerry wakes up the next morning to the sight of a ceiling with significantly less weird stains than his own. That’s right; he had spent the night at Michael’s flat, drifting to sleep with the feel of Michael’s long fingers carding through his hair.

He rolls over in the bed to find Michael beside him, still fast asleep, with his mouth open and an arm thrown across his eyes. His sweater is pulled down on one side to reveal a bare shoulder. Gerry moves in to press a kiss to one of many freckle constellations there before cuddling closer, pulling the heavy duvet around them and fitting his arm around Michael’s slender waist. He drifts back to sleep.

He wakes again later in the morning, the dull light of autumn sprinkling across Michael’s bedroom. Michael is looking at him with his cloudy grey eyes, regarding him calmly. 

Michael smiles when he notices he’s being watched back, and greets Gerry quietly, “Morning, sunshine.”

Gerry grins and takes the hand that is playing with a strand of his hair, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and replacing it around his shoulders before pulling Michael closer.

Michael giggles into the slow kiss Gerry presses to the corner of his mouth. He hums, pleased, when Gerry moves across and kisses him properly, deep and warm. Michael slides his hands down Gerry’s shoulders and grips his arms, giggling quietly as he digs his fingers into the muscle. He rolls them over so he can straddle Gerry’s hips. Gerry sighs at the weight of his boyfriend on top of him, pressing lingering kisses into his throat as Gerry winds his fingers in Michael’s soft golden curls.

Michael pulls back after a long moment and rests his forehead against Gerry’s. “I love you,” he says sombrely.

“I love you, too,” Gerry says back.

“I love you,” Michael says more insistently, cheeky smile tugging at his lips.

“I love you, too, Michael,” Gerry returns again, grinning.

Michael scrambles away from him and out of the bed. Before Gerry can ask what he’s doing, he slides open the window and pokes his head out. “I love Gerry!” he shouts to the public of central London.

Gerry laughs, blushing furiously, “Okay, okay, that’s enough. Get back here.”

Michael bounces back onto the bed and curls his long limbs around Gerry. “I love you,” he whispers into Gerry’s ear.

“I fucking love you, too,” Gerry whispers back. He holds Michael tight, and doesn’t let go.

*

(They see the horror movie the following night. Michael is late again, and spends the whole film hiding in Gerry’s shoulder. If you’d asked him what it was about, Gerry would be hard pressed to answer.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya liked! Drop a kudos and comment if you did :0


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